what you asked for

So I finally snapped.

Raise your hand if you're surprised.

I was doing my best to remain calm and collected... to take deep breaths each time someone in the house said something to outrage me... but I finally couldn't handle it and blew up this afternoon.
Who was the lucky winner to finally push me over the ledge? My sister. Naturally.

Everything was fine at first, I had been busy getting ready for the day's events. We had planned to visit the Acropolis museum and then stroll the premises. Then I began noticing everyone taking their time... just chillin... not making an effort to get ready. By three, I had given up hope of making it to the museum, so I went ahead and did my own thing... I sat down and played games on my phone... you know, to keep calm and not scream at everyone my discontent for their fucking lackadaisical attitude.
Then the girls had the idea to go out for gyros. Dad decided he didn't want to go, so I stayed behind to keep him company. I told the girls what I wanted, and they left around 4:15.
Everything was fine.
They returned at about 5, and we all sat down to eat.
I bit into my gyro... and bit again... potato. I bit again. More potato. I bit again. Lots of potatoes and a tomato.
I opened the gyro and looked inside. What was supposed to be protein was just pure fucking potatoes.
And I angrily commented about what kind of fucking asshole dipshit would prepare a POTATO gyro. A MOTHERFUCKING POTATO GYRO! POTATO!
(I actually said "Who the fuck would prepare a potato gyro!?" none of this bold, all caps "POTATO!" business I just did due to the rage I felt just remembering the ordeal [I fucking hate potatoes to begin with, so this only made my blood boil worse])
So I stopped eating and set it aside.
This made my sister tell me I was overreacting and that I just needed to shut the fuck up-- that it wasn't their fault.
"I KNOW it isn't your fault. I KNOW it was the idiot fucking chef. I'm not angry at ANY of you. I'm just angry someone could be that fucking stupid... and when I get angry, I lose my appetite. So I'm angry a fucking idiot made me angry to the point where I lose my appetite, when I was hungry before sitting down for lunch."
And then we have Clemson trying to "solve" the problem by suggesting things I could do, like trading gyros etc. Completely ignoring my statement about me losing my appetite when I get angry.
Then my sister says "WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING EAT ALREADY?!"
And this pisses me off. It. Makes. Me. Tick.
BOOM.

***
Last night my brother was going to the airport to drop off the van we had rented for the weekend (we went on some fun road trips to Delfi, Sumio, and ending it all with Meteora, which was absolutely gorgeous and had me in a wonderful, blissful, calm mood), and asked me to join him since he used my credit card to pay for the van.
From there, Clemson added herself, because she thought Bro was going to travel alone (he was going to do the 50 minute treck back to the house on metro/foot). Then Pacemaker added herself to the trip because she wanted to get out of the house.
Sister had added herself, since she didn't want to be alone in the house.
My brother was surprised by the fact that we all wanted to make the mediocre, boring airport trip with him, and he commented that we didn't HAVE to go on this boring trip.
My sister went crazy on him and flipped. She screamed, cried, and locked herself in her room. All because she misunderstood my brother's comment.
"You only told ME I COULDN'T GO!"
That sort of shit.
Clemson, Bro, Pacemaker, Mom, and I tried calming her down and begged her to join us on this stupid trip... but she was her typical melodramatic self-- refusing to acknowledge us... pouting while her earbuds were in, as she stared at some Sons of Anarchy episode on her iPad.
This soured ALL of our day.
***

Me: Hey, *Sister*, why didn't you come outside without us last night?!
Sister: Because you guys were fucking assholes to me!
BOOM!
Me: WE were fucking assholes?!
::I point at everyone at the table-- Mom, Clemson, Pacemaker, me::
Me: WE WERE FUCKING ASSHOLES?! FUCK. YOU! We BEGGED you to join us. EACH ONE OF US. YOU WERE THE FUCKING ASSHOLE! YOU'VE BEEN THE ONLY FUCKING ASSHOLE HERE FROM THE MOMENT YOU GOT HERE!

My mom gets angry, tells ME to shut up. Pacemaker leaves the room. Clemson keeps eating at the table.
I sit between Clemson and Sister... feeling my chest heave heavier with each breath I take... losing my ability to keep my chin from quivering, and my eyes from watering.
I can feel my sister sit next to me, feeling victorious. Feeling validated. Feeling CORRECT. Feeling like the winner.
Only thing running through my mind is that once again, I'm forced to shut my mouth, when in my fucking heart, I KNOW I'm right... I KNOW SHE has been the fucking asshole. Angry because I once again have to remain quiet about MY feelings and MY thoughts. MY feelings and thoughts are useless... to be kept silent, because they stir the status quo... because I step up to the little bitch who has ALWAYS thought she runs the show.
I fucking lose it.
Incredibly hot tears streak down both my eyes and I turn to her. I look her in the face, and in a whisper, I very angrily growl (as though I were possessed, which one could argue I was) "YOU WANT ME TO BE AN ASSHOLE? BECAUSE I'LL SHOW YOU WHAT A FUCKING ASSHOLE I CAN BE! I CAN BE THE WORST FUCKING ASSHOLE YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN. I WILL RUIN YOUR FUCKING LIFE. I'M FUCKING SICK OF YOU RUINING MY TIME. I'M SICK OF YOU DISRESPECTING ME IN FRONT OF OTHERS LIKE THIS. I HAVE BEEN NOTHING BUT NICE AND CALM WITH YOU. HAVING EVERYONE LICK YOUR FUCKING ASS YESTERDAY TRYING TO GET YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE. THAT'S ME BEING AN ASSHOLE?!"
I angrily stand up, staring down at my sister, clenching my fists.
Mom: ANOMALIE! NO YOU WON'T! SHUT UP! SIT DOWN! GET AWAY!
Mom seriously spoke English.
Me: I AM CALM. I AM TRYING TO SOLVE A PROBLEM. I AM NOT SCREAMING... IT IS TAKING EVERYTHING IN ME NOT TO SCREAM IN HER FACE LIKE SHE SCREAMS IN MINE. I am talking it out. I am letting her know it bothers me. I am letting her know I am fed up. HOLDING IT IN, like you want me to do, is what caused this scene in the first place. You're telling me she can disrespect and pout and throw tantrums... making us all feel bad.. but the moment SHE feels hurt and insulted I need to shut the fuck up? NO.
Mom: SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP!
Me: SHE JUST KNOWS WHEN TO DO IT. WHEN TO PISS ME OFF. WHEN TO SAY SHIT. WHEN THERE'S OTHER PEOPLE PRESENT, SO SHE GETS AWAY WITH IT BECAUSE SHE KNOWS I CAN'T DO SHIT IN FRONT OF OTHERS. KNOWS IF THEY WEREN'T HERE, I'D RIP HER FUCKING HEAD OFF.

Tears are streaming down my face, even my nose is running. I am breathing heavier than I do when I run sprints.

Clemson was no longer in the room.
Mom starts giving us some irrelevant speech about having to love our family etc etc, but I am too angry to give a shit. She does this all the time-- missing the point of an argument.
I continue making my argument of "Why can SHE insult us and act a fool, but I can't tell her to shut the fuck up when she's being an asshole," with the reasoning being "because she's your baby sister."
Somehow Sister leaves the room, and I stand at the corner, by the washing machine that is still running, and proceed to calm my breathing-- all to no avail. My body, for the first time I can recall, begins to shake uncontrollably-- my core, my arms, and my legs. I have to stand there and concentrate on staying steady so that I won't collapse.

I have never reached that level of rage, I have never been so pissed I actually shake... "trembling with rage" used to just be a figure of speech.

What happens next? I'm left to be alone in the kitchen, being held up by the washing machine, trembling uncontrollably, while the rest of the house--naturally-- goes and calms down the melodramatic queen that is my baby sister.
She's a sea of tears and sobs on her bed... I'm a silent, shaking beast alone in a corner of the house.

I was a monster. Of course. Is there any other way?
I mean, big ol' mean me... growling, sniveling at this baby sister, baby sister I can easily hurt with just the bump of my hip. Telling her mean shit no one really ever tells anyone... even enemies-- the motherfucking truth.
I am a monster because I spoke the truth... because I refused to "shut up" and allow someone to insult me one too many times.

I TRY to be nice and calm and kind... I FIGHT the impulse to slap and punch and kick the fucking shit out of those who insult me... and I do a motherfucking awesome job at it, considering HOW MANY TIMES and HOW MANY PEOPLE insult me.
They see me sit quietly when they bulldoze over me with their insults/mistreatment. They gain this false sense of security, thinking I'm all talk... a cowardly lion... but the moment I finally reach my boiling point, "PUT HER DOWN! SHE'S DANGEROUS!"
No fucking shit. No motherfucking shit.

People don't give me enough credit when it comes to how well I manage to keep myself calm and collected rather than give in to my natural instinct of just wrecking shit--physically and verbally. They feel this need to constantly poke at me, completely skeptical of my warnings and please to not enrage me... but they just keep pressing to see if this supposed monster inside really does lash out, if it really exists... just push, push, push, stomp, stomp, stomp, insult, insult, insult... and when I finally do show them the horrible side (AT THEIR INSISTENCE), I'm shunned and reprimanded.

I'm calm now. It took me about four hours to chill out... about two hours to actually stop trembling. About an hour to actually stop giving a shit about having to calm MYSELF down, alone in a room next to a rowdy, old washing machine... everyone scared of me, thinking I'm such a horrible human (which I am).

Everyone's out drinking at the bar now. I'm home, watching some Italian crime drama with my parents, typing this up.

Life's motherfucking great.

Strong word... truly.

You know how I'm all quiet and stuff?
How I LOATHE words that are uttered in rage.
What I hate most is that in the middle of heated arguments, once someone says something truly hurtful... I can't counter attack. I sit... angrily wanting to rip out their eyes... but I sit still... so I cry out of frustration. And I keep the words. I may go on and act like I'm ok after a few minutes... but the words stay burned into my memory.

"You have to be one of the FEW people I TRULY HATE!"

...
Many more hurtful things were said to me, while all I really said was "ANYTHING YOU FUCKING TOUCH, YOU BREAK! YOU FUCKING ANIMAL!"
The other words said to me hurt and made me cry... but that phrase... that phrase still has me crying.

My brother said that to me this afternoon. Neither one of us was drunk... we were both stone cold sober.

Excuse me... my soul hurts.

...
Happy Thanksgiving.

HoodAssBitch

My Facebook friends are more entertaining than yours:

seems innocent enough...

Whoa! Wait! What?

Uh-oh... shit's going down!

See, if I were in this fight, I'd use proper spelling, punctuation, grammar, etc.
But that's just me.

I giggled.

Even I felt a little offended here.
Prostitute? Homie, that's only OUT OF TOWN HOES!

Really? "Let's escalate the argument! Let's take it to THE PHONE!"
Weak.

No girl likes admitting she has an "ugly ass fk" man.
No girl.

True story.
And... is it me, or do I sense a strong case of bipolar behavior right now?

Wait... I'm confused now...

More giggles.
"Squares in me circle?"... wha?

Oh! Oh! I sense "shit's about to get real!"

Hard.

Ok, enough.
Yeah right! I kept reading!
It was like "Blood In Blood Out" being played out in real life!

... Aaaaand this is how people end up murdered over a Facebook status...

I swear not a day goes by where I don't wonder how the hell I'm still friends with some people...
P.S. The angry latina? Yeah, I fought her back in middle school. She "stole" Mario from me and shit went down.
P.S.S. I whooped her ass... then we became friends.
P.S.S.S. I think she's gonna get her ass BEAT when she meets up with this crazy broad.
P.S.S.S.S. This argument only got WORSE... talk about infanticide, and 48 "niggas" jumping "yo white ass." Hmmm... people are interesting creatures... I feel like I need to call the cops now...

Back to Elementary

My friend posts this:

Funny, right? And on the money.

Naturally, I find it amusing, so I say this (note: no one else has commented. I'm the first):
I love this. love, Love, LOVE!
p.s. I'm stealing this :)
He says this:
LOL, how do you think I got it? Steal way, this is genius lol!
Then this goes down:

No provocation.
No (initial) rudeness from my behalf.
Nothing.
I don't even know this bitch (granted, we went to high school together, but she's a year younger, so I never interacted with her. EVER).
How the FUCK does she think this is REMOTELY acceptable? How is this even civil?
What did I do, again?

And people wonder why I fucking hate girls. Fucking hoes come at me from left field.
Goddamn keyboard warriors.
Get the fuck out of here and mind your own business, cunts... or start taking some boxing lessons, because the moment you try and lob something at me, I swing first THEN ask questions.
Pendejas.

Needless to say, Jenny better watch her fucking (very moronic) back.

I fucking hate Facebook...
... and girls, in case I didn't make that one clear.
"Sisterhood" my fucking clit.

October's Big Bang

So uh... today wasn't... one of my best days.

You could say October started with a bang for me.
A big one.
A REALLY big one.

On the bright side:
I made peace with Musketeer's wife. For real.
I guess helping someone move out of their apartment by hossing heavy boxes up and down two flights of stairs for five hours will kind of help prove your point that: I'M YOUR FUCKING FRIEND!

On the bad side:
I fought with my mother over yet ANOTHER humiliation suffered at church... at the hands of the fucking stupid ushers.
Backstory: As I helped Musketeer move, he ordered pizza. Since I had been jumping (no, seriously, I was jumping on and off the truck, up and down some stairs), jogging, continuously going up and down two flights of stairs, and lifting heavy shit for five hours (which had me drenched in sweat, I'd be leaving a sweat trail after the third hour, no lie), I decided I'd partake in the pizza-eating.
This fucked me up. My stomach was wishing my death.
AND STILL, I decided to go to church at 5PM (I was done helping Musketeer at 4PM).
Now, I NEVER do this at church, but as a means to encourage my body to start metabolizing the fucking pizza that was killing me, I decided to VERY DISCREETLY chew A STICK of bubblegum.
In the Catholic church, you're not allowed to eat anything a full hour prior to taking the holy communion.
Thing is, I don't take the holy communion.
I've never been a fan of hypocritically going up there as if I'm a sinless creature, because I know I'm not perfect-- I cuss on an hourly basis and I wish harm on others at least twice a week. That, in my book, makes me unworthy of going up there... so I DON'T go. I'm sincere in my behavior when it comes to that aspect. The moment I fuck up is the moment I quit taking communion, even if it's something as simple as me cussing at D.

OK, so that was my rationalizing of that even.
My stomach hurts, this pizza needs to get digested... I'm not going to take holy communion... so I'm going to DISCREETLY chew on this stick of gum to encourage my stomach to digest. Mass is an hour long, I'll hang on to this gum until I get home.

What happens? About five minutes into mass, a stupid little cunt, about 14 years old pokes my left arm and tells me
Bitch: Are you chewing gum?
Me: What?
I look down and see she's holding a Kleenex in her right hand and pointing at it with her left.
I look at the Kleenex, then at her.
I raise my left eyebrow.
You're kidding me, right? Who the fuck do you think you are?
Bitch: Can you spit out your gum?!
I look back down at her hand, make eye-contact, roll my eyes, scoff, and wave her away with my left hand (she was down to my shoulder, since we were both standing up).
Me: It's all right. I'll swallow it.

The little twat walked away.
Since I'm not a complete asshole, I decided to swallow the gum.
BUT I kept moving my mandibles as if I were chewing... because I wanted the goddamn metabolic process to fucking begin. BECAUSE MY STOMACH HURT.
Five minutes later, another girl walks up to me. This one giving me a more "hardass" look. She did the same thing with the Kleenex. She was about 15.
Bitch#2: Spit out your gum!
I made eye contact with her. I made sure to give her the MEANEST glare in my repertoire. My "Who THE FUCK do you think you are?! Get away from me before I fucking KNOCK THE TASTE OUT YOUR MOUTH" glare.
I wanted to make sure I made my point clear-- if she, or any other fucking asshole in that building approached me, I was going to do just that, knock their fucking teeth out.
Excommunication be damned, I was going to beat a motherfucking condescending cunt right then and there. I KNOW the rules. I FOLLOW the rules... to damn near motherfucking perfection... for all TWENTY-SIX motherfucking years of my life.
Me: WHAT GUM?! THE ONE I SWALLOWED FIVE MINUTES AGO?!
Bitch#2: Oh. Ok. ::between her teeth:: Thank. You.
Mind you, all this shit went on as the gospel was being read by the priest and we all stood there, listening.
The people sitting around me all saw this scene... of these fucking twats trying to condescend ME, a 26 year old who was minding her own fucking business... DISCREETLY chewing gum to kickstart her goddamn metabolism. The 26 year old who has been attending that church for TWENTY SIX YEARS.

I spent the rest of mass grinding my teeth, chewing my tongue and inside of my cheeks.

OK, so there's that.
I came home and I was talking about it with D. Laughing about it.

Of course, Mom had to come in and add her two cent.
More than two cents.
As always, she took sides with the church.
She said things that greatly upset me, and no matter how hard I tried explaining my situation, she wouldn't listen.
It was ALL YOUR FAULT and YOU DESERVED IT.
I AM A GOOD PERSON! I AM A GOOD CATHOLIC! I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHY THESE MOTHERFUCKERS WHO RARELY GO TO CHURCH BUT SUDDENLY HOLD A SPOT AS AN USHER FEEL SO FUCKING ENTITLED TO SHAME ME IN FRONT OF THE CONGREGATION FOR BULLSHIT.
And we kept going at it.
Me: If they would have sent ONE more fucking little bitch, I would have spit in her fucking face. I WOULD HAVE!
Mom: You're crazy, AnoMALIE. YOU'RE REALLY CRAZY!
I was quiet. I covered my eyes, took in a deep breath, trying to calm down... and I said what I was really thinking.
Me: You'll never understand. You'll just never understand. I don't want to... listen to you... even look at you right now. Please get away from me.
Mom: IF YOUR STOMACH HURT SO MUCH, WHY DID YOU GO TO CHURCH?! YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO GO TODAY! WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST WAIT TO GO TOMORROW?!

And suddenly... something in my head and heart snapped.
I was done being nice. I was done walking on eggshells. I was done holding it in.
I looked her dead in the eye, and as... honestly as possible, but knowing I was going to hurt her, but getting some sort of... evil joy knowing I WOULD, I said the truth.
Me: Wanna know WHY I went today? WANNA KNOW WHY?! BECAUSE I WANT TO GET RID OF THE CHURCH CHORE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I WANT TO FINISH THAT TASK AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. I WANT TO GET IT OVER WITH AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. BECAUSE I FUCKING HATE IT. IF IT WERE UP TO ME, I WOULD HAVE STOPPED GOING TO CHURCH FUCKING FOUR YEARS AGO!!!!

That's where Dad walked into my room. He saw how wildly I was crying, mascara smeared all over my face--not just my eyes-- from rubbing my face so hard in my exasperation.
He immediately asked me what was wrong.

I don't know what it is about my pops, but whenever he wants me to explain a situation that has me upset, I just lose it.
I couldn't get past two sentences before I was sobbing too hard to make coherent sounds.

Somehow, I managed to tell him the story, explaining how what I was doing didn't merit that sort of... public chastising/humiliation, when there were many other people being FAR MORE disruptive than I was (two benches ahead of me, there was this imbecilic mother allowing her stupid spawn to rip pages out of the missal. FAR more destructive than any bullshit I was supposedly doing).
Dad took my side, saying the least he would have done would have been to slap the stupid little bitch across the face.
Mom stormed out of my room (she went to bed without giving me her blessing. She has never done that before).
I kept crying.
Mom wouldn't defend me against her church... that shit hurts... a lot. Then again... it's thanks to that adherence that she... ignored what happened to me 19 years ago...

And that's how my parents found out I'm... possibly possessed by the devil.

Hello, October.

Mudslides

I've been having some information-overload days recently.
I have no clue where to begin, so I don't say a thing.

My mind isn't here.
I've also been working hard at undoing the weekend's dietary damage.

But the main story is this:
MGH cheated on his girl while he was in town last week. He fucked numerous girls.
He told her about it yesterday... and a fucking bomb went off.
I was swept in the mudslide... as hard as I tried clinging to stable ground.

When MGH was here at the start of the month, I semi-jokingly pointed out a very skinny white girl who happened to be using the crosswalk as I drove the guys to a restaurant.
Me: Hey, look, MGH! Una guera desabrida! Como las que te gustan! (A bland blondie! Just like you like 'em!)
This was after the drunk scene he had in the car, after Jose mentioned how he didn't like Heather because she was mean to MGH, after MGH said he was single.

This last week, he continued with his... odd treatment of me. I can't really describe it... it was just uncomfortable. It's like... he was trying to... make up for the pain he caused me in the past. He was... taking it all back. Being the guy I WISHED he would have been back in '09. He was just trying really REALLY hard.
But it was like he was trying on a brick wall.
I treated him like a little brother.
I'd catch myself giving him my "pity look." My heartbreak look... the look I gave my TV while watching "Milo and Otis" and "The Bear" when I was a kid (those movies where the fucking shit, but man, did they make me cry!).
All I could really think the whole time was
I'm sorry...

So, as I watched him self-distruct over the week, I did what I've always done when I see him caving to his vice: I walk away.
Instead of arguing with him, or pleading with him to please stop drinking, I just suck my bottom lip, look him in the eye, shake my head, and walk away.
Your choice. It will always be your. choice.

Well, this approach is what got me in the middle of the breakup fight.
Apparently I "didn't do enough to prevent it."
Wha...? Since when am I his mom?
MGH isn't making the accusation, actually he's down in the dumps right now... damn near suicidal... considering himself a worthless piece of shit.
It has also been implied that perhaps it was really just ME he cheated with...
?!? I don't even know where to start... ?

Instead of joining the shit-talking ranks, I've told him the truth:
The shit was already broken. You never would have cheated had your relationship been solid in the first place. SHE belittled YOU first. SHE hurt YOU first. The relationship was dysfunctional. Period. The outcome was not going to be pretty. Cut your losses, apologize--BOTH of you-- and move on.

So... yeah.
That has been my last day or so.

HA! ME have control over MGH's dick... I can't control his fucking mouth, much less his other head... not that I would WANT to. 

Nada es oculto

I got a name.
And information.
And photos.

Adriana--the suckerpuncher-- to the left
and her equally classy friend, who happened to be the one who pulled D's hair, to the right.
This is THE DAY OF the incident.

When I want to get you, trust me, I'm going to get you.
I'm from Durango-- the world is now aware of what the people from there are known for.
I was born and raised in the ghetto.
I don't play.

HOWEVER, a bit of information changed my thirst for revenge.
What was that?
My cousin's behavior.

Also, I could go all thug on this girl... revert to middle school and wait for her outside of her house as she gets home from work... then get to work with a bat. Break all of her possessions. Etcetera, etcetera.
But:
1. It's not like she KILLED my sister.
She sucker-punched D in the face, like your stereotypical catty-ass Latina who swats at anyone better looking than her. It's not news to anyone who has a remotely attractive family member/friend. It's common knowledge that ONE DAY, that pretty girl in your group is going to get fucked up in a fight.
D isn't THAT fucked up, either. Her nose is no longer swollen, and there's barely a mark now. You'd have to know she was punched in the face to even look for a trace.
D only has a disgusting ball on her forearm from where the stupid bitch in the orange mangled her around. It's a huge, bundled-up bruise.

2. I find my cousin's reaction much more repulsive.
There were FOUR of my cousins standing around the moment this fight went down. FOUR. What is the likelihood of that happening in this city, at a concert?
Two of them cut all ties to the bitch-- that would be 30thBdayBoy and my other cousin who shared his 30-something birthday with him back in March. Those two walked out of the concert the moment the fight ended. They wanted NO part in it, Hoodrat died to them at that moment.
But two other cousins... they stayed.
Now, one of them I'm not mad at. I'm only mad he didn't want to give me a name when I asked him. He admitted to knowing the girl, and I was only pissed at him for not telling me who it was.
But the fourth... that guy.
He's the one who claims to be my "Brother." He's my brother's BFF... which, coincidentally, my brother started distancing himself from this last time he came to town.
He swore up and down that he did not know this girl.
He even gave me a response on Twitter that infuriated me, because I could just imagine how he would have yelled it at me in person (which would have led to me slicing my hand through his fucking teeth).
Me: I would appreciate knowing that animal's name... please :)
Him: idk but just drop it! If anything ask *30thBdayBoy*
Bitch, WHAAAAT?
Luckily, I read that at five in the morning, when I was too tired to respond with something much less sarcastic.
Anyway, a little later in the afternoon, he called my sister and claimed to not know this girl.

OK.

Today, Twiggy called.
She found the girl.
Who is she friends with? My "brother" and that one cousin who didn't want to give me a name.
My "brother" bitched out like that.
Ha.
Figures he'd choose pussy over family.

So... instead of beating this bitch's ass... or at least "randomly" bumping into her somewhere to sucker-punch the shit out of her, I just got her 86'd from Tao Group properties.
'cause I'm vindictive like that.
She's 21. It's gonna hurt her... though, she IS a hoodrat, so she probably goes to the seedy shit in North Las Vegas.

More importantly, this taught me a hard lesson in loyalty.
My "brother" is all motherfucking talk. Constantly spewing at the mouth about all this love and how I'm the sister he never had and blah-blah-blah.
Bullllllllshiiiiiit, buddy. Bullshit.
But it's cool. All he lost was MY loyalty... and once that's gone, it's gone for good.
Your word is your bond, once you fuck that up... all integrity I once gave you credit of possessing evaporates. Fizzles. Buh bye!


This chapter is officially over, now just an opportunity to bring it up whenever Sister thinks she's being a badass.
Hey, take it easy there, Tupac! Remember the time you got punked by an ugly bitch at that rap-olympics thingamajig?
She's not going to live this one down.

Adult fight

4th grade.

Scene A:
After getting cornered in the girl's bathroom, my "friends" Michelle and Jenelle (I swear to God, those were real names. I don't joke when I tell you my life could be turned into a sitcom) start beating the shit out of me... for the second time that school day, the third day in a row.
It's the middle of the school year, and it's been the same story for the last two months.
Jenelle stops with the punches, stands still, ponders something, then finally speaks up.
Jenelle: AnoMALIE... WHY don't you ever HIT BACK, you dumb ass?
I look up, stare her in her eyes, and very sincerely, but quietly say
"Because I don't hit my friends." (even writing that line now, 17 years later, my eyes get watery)
Jenelle: You don't hit your friends.... HAHAHA! You hear that, Michelle? She doesn't hit HER FRIENDS! HAHAHAHAHA! Well, we're NOT ::punches my stomach:: YOUR FRIENDS!
And the two continued kicking my ass until recess was over.

Scene B:
I'm in line in the cafeteria, waiting to have lunch. I notice one of D's friends tugging on my shirt.
DsFriend: D wants to talk to you... she's crying in the bathroom.
DsOtherFriend: Angelica made her cry.
I forgot about being hungry, I forgot about possibly getting in trouble for leaving the cafeteria before being dismissed by the teacher, and I just ran to the bathroom with the two friends to find my sister.
As Sister sobbed and told me her story behind her tears (Angelica teased her about how she cried when it rained and she then made fun of my mom), I felt my blood boil.
After calming my sister down and walking her to her class so she could sit outside and wait for her teacher, I went ahead and looked for Angelica.
It didn't take too long to find her, she was the only blond amongst the little hispanic girls.
I walked up to Angelica, grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, and very quietly, but sternly warned her
Me: You make my sister cry ONE. MORE. TIME, I'll fucking kick your ass. You hear me? ONE. MORE. TIME.
I went on with my day, got my ass kicked by my "friends" one more time, but I was called over to my sister's class a couple of minutes before the school day was over.
Angelica had been crying all day, her teacher--who was also D's-- wanted to talk to me because she said Angelica had told her I had threatened to kick her ass.
Teacher: Did you really do that, AnoMALIE?
I looked over at Angelica.
Me: The girl crying over there? I don't even know her.
The bell rang, and the teacher let me go.
I rode the bus with Angelica. I walked behind her all the way to her apartment complex, and as she was turning around to close the door to the gate of her complex, we made eye-contact.
Never. Again. Leave my sister alone.

Angelica wasn't the first or only peer of D's I threatened/fought. I fought boys who physically hurt her (I walked by one boy and made that throat-slitting gesture with my thumb the moment I heard he had made her bleed. I then found him a little later and body slammed him before lunch was over), and I even dropped whatever I was doing the moment I would see her in trouble (I was once eating an ice cream cone as I walked out of my house to see my neighbor/cousin dragging my sister by her hair. I dropped my cone and ran at that chick's back and started pounding on her face so she could let go of my sister. Once that happened, I continued to punch her until she stopped trying to defend herself). I turned into a heartless monster the moment I'd see tears in my sister's eyes. I made motherfuckers pay for every tear she shed.

When it comes to me getting hurt, I'll stand quietly and take the punishment... especially that year in fourth grade.
People would always ask me why I'd put up with it... and the best I could come up with was a shrug.
I never fought back. Not even once. (I still don't even fight back, for the most part. I'll swallow my rage until I'm physically sick, vomiting all over the place from the built up bile)
And NO ONE stood up for me (well... ONCE, someone did... just once, and I don't think I've cried that hard in public... just because it meant so damn much to me to see someone finally try and stop the violence).
However, I will fight anyone or anything who tries to hurt the ones I love. I go ballistic.
It has always been that way, and it still is that way.
I fight for my loves like I wish someone would fight for me.

I only mention this because last night, right after I finished posting my entry, Sister walked into my room with a shaky voice and said
D: I got in my first adult fight just now...

I didn't look over at her, because I was busy with the laptop WHILE trying to catch up on my DVR shit.
However, D just sat on my bed and I could hear her breathing was shaky.
Me: Wait... what? "Adult fight?" Like an argument...
I turned around, and saw her eyes were red, the right side of the bridge of her nose was purple, and her left arm was bruised and bleeding.
Me: What... the... what the fuck?!

Last night was a stupid "concert" in town, very similar to the rap-olympics or whatever the fuck that's called. Bunch a dudes go on stage and "spit rhymes."
Woo. Hoo.
We had all been invited by none other than the Boys... from Europe.
The main person interested was 30thBirthdayBoy, because he's kind of seeing D's BestieFromtheBay.
Since I don't dig that scene... AT ALL, I chose not to go. It was just D and her bestie, with the stupid Boys who think they know anything about Europe.
I guess 30thBirthdayBoy has been seeing many other chicks, and one of the chicks he has been hooking up with lost her marbles when she saw him making out with DsBestieFromtheBay.
The ghetto hoodrat swatted at 30thBdayBoy, he decided to bounce, grabbing DsBestieFTB to take her away, and D followed, not knowing what was going on.
Next thing she knows, D gets sucker-punched in the eye.
It was the stupid crazy hoodrat.
Two different GUY cousins of ours saw this go down, yet they did and said nothing... even if they DID know the bitch.
D realized her phone had gotten lost in the scuffle, and so, she and Bestie decided to go back into the venue (The House of Blues... that magical venue).
They bump into the crazy hood rat.
Hoodrat goes for Bestie's hair and they scuffle.
D tries to break up the fight, but Hoodrat's friend pulls D by the hair/earring. Since D has short hair, she slips out of the grasp, and she manages to connect a punch with the bitch pulling her hair.
These four girls are brawling... at a rap-olympics... the only latinas in the venue are providing the real entertainment.
Anyway, security comes and breaks up the fight.
D leaves with her bestie--who has a busted lip and a scratch running from her right eye down to her neck-- and the boys, OUR cousins (actually, 30thBdayBoy is the son of my sister's godmother) who witnessed the whole thing? They do nothing.
NOTHING.

I was furious about this last night. I was sending texts back and forth, demanding a name... but OF COURSE everyone was telling me to drop it (they know I may be a quiet girl, but the moment someone crosses me, I become ruthless)... and they were acting as if they didn't see the fight.

I'm no longer fuming. I'm just "disappointed," but at the same time glad I found out the worth of this so called "family."
Two days ago I would have thrown down with any cunt who'd try to hurt them...
Today? I won't lift a fucking finger if I see them dying of thirst on the street.

Yo, I'll fight tooth and nail for my loves if I have to...
but the moment you prove to me that you won't do the same for yours... well, you just become a stranger to me then.

riDICKulous

Wow. Just wow.
I could have done with yesterday never happening.
It was HORRIBLE. Terrible day.

Let's start off with what traumatized me:
Dad found out about that one notorious blog... written in Mexico... by a person who is in "the know" about the drug war going on down there. I'd link it, but honest to God, that blog will give you nightmares, regardless of who you are (well, unless you're one of the hitmen committing all those awful murders down there). I'm also terrified of even associating my name with that site.
Anyway, the site has brutal photos of the things the cartels are doing down there. I can stomach the photos... as gross and horrible as they may be. I'm only left with a deep sadness from seeing the victims fear and anguish noticeable on his/her face (or whatever's left of it).
But then there's also video.
The Taliban ain't got JACK on these guys. Rememeber back in the day when there was a huge uproar because they posted a video where they decapitated US soldiers? WELL... that video was TAME compared to what is on this other site.
I stay the F away from videos.
But DAD.... dear old Dad found the site yesterday... and guess what interested him.
A video.

The only reason I walked over to him was because there was audio, REALLY loud audio, and he wanted me to teach him how to lower the volume (I should have KNOWN he was up to no good once he mentioned this).
I looked over at what he was trying to watch. The title was "Man gets dismembered."
WHAT THE %$@@?! (needless to say, yesterday my lent promise of not cussing went out the window... BIG TIME)
It was SIX and a half MINUTES LONG.
And I watched every second.
Dad was interested, I stood behind him with my hands clasped over my head and my mouth wide open. I'd occasionally bounce... you know, that nervous bounce of "Uh... mmm... I think I should go right now... but... Oh man! ARE THEY REALLY DOING THAT?! OH MY GOD!"
Not even Hannibal Lecter did what I saw in that video.
The worst part was that all of the people there (at least ten masked men) were LAUGHING. That was what had me most messed up. I was also appalled by how they'd pose for pictures while hacking away at the guy... like a happy grill master making some carne asada. That's how... messed up this whole situation is.
They've lost all sense of respect for human life. It's TERRIFYING.
I've seen all kinds of animals get butchered... and these guys were doing their thing as if the poor human being dangling from his feet (they had him tied from his feet, hanging upside down) were a piece of ham or something.

That's as far as I'll get into that conversation. I don't want to traumatize you guys with the (beyond)gory details.
All I can say is: don't step foot in Mexico for a long, LONG time. I know I WON'T (I love it with all of my being, and I yearn for it every single year like some stupid sea-turtle returning to her place of birth-- thought I was not born there-- but it's just... psycho to put yourself in harms way like that).
Anyway, once the video was over, I angrily told Dad he was forbidden from seeing that site ever again... and I forced him to shut down the computer... and I sent him off to bed, like a very angry mom.
He very quietly agreed (the weirdest part of the whole video-watching experience was that Dad was concerned about me watching the video... but only in the beginning, where the guy hanging by his feet was naked and I could see the man's penis-- the first body part to go, btw-- Dad was like "Don't look at it." REALLY, Dad, really? This man's about to get dismembered limb by limb and you're worried about me seeing a dangling penis? Where are your priorities, sir?!).

I've spent all of today just thinking of that video. Even the poor altar boy at church reminded me of the victim... it saddened me.

Ok... now the bachelorette party... that thing. THAT thing.
DISASTER.
All out WAR.

The wedding is going to be... you can't hear me, but I just groaned.
I was way more upset last night... posting it all over twitter and then having the awesome boys in my life calm me down... which lead to me getting rid of most of my scathing updates (unlike my sister. Now SHE went Ghetto Hoodrat on hers).
I can get into detail... and I would, except that I still get worked up. I don't want to ruin my day with recounting what went down last night. Let's just say "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy" describes what went down to PERFECTION. Sister and I listened to the entire album while LOOKING for the godforsaken venue (this is where my cussing thing went to hell and I started cussing it up like... well... Kanye) and as I sat there, ready to start uppercutting bitches... I would listen to the tracks and think "Jesus... is this happening according to what song is next?!" One minute we're having a good time, next we're sad... then we get violent... then we feel guilty... then we get arrogant... then sad again.
I mean... it was going in the order of the tracks. Insanity, I tell you!
Line for the night?
"Fuckin' RIDICULOUS!" (must be said in RZA's voice, obviously)

Point of the story: We officially only have a maternal side of the family... and I couldn't care less.

Yes, it got THAT ugly.

At least I no longer have to carry around that mask (you know, the one where I act OK with their slights and whatnot). Feelings are out in the open... something I've been dying for since I was three.

Next week is gonna be ROUGH! (but at least it'll be the last time I have to see any one of them in a very long time)

Casi un...

Intense day full of fights for me.
I'll leave the heavier one (literally) for tomorrow, I think. I'm low on time.
I'll go for the light-hearted-ish.

I got in a verbal altercation over Ricky Martin.
Yes. I did.
And I'd do it again.
NO ONE trash-talks Ricky in front of me. No one.

It all started because one of my high school buddies (who is a total hardass. Her only weakness is Ricky Martin) mentioned how she was excited about Ricky Martin's new concert. She then mentioned how he was the "most beautiful creature" she has ever seen. I agreed (because he is. Gay or straight, that man has the most beautiful face I've ever seen. His eyes, his nose, his lips, his hair... oh my God... everything. He is GORGEOUS). ALL the girls agreed... then one (ugly) bitch goes "Eww! Am I the only person who finds him gross?!"
Bad choice of words, cunt.

Me: Gross? Why? What exactly makes him gross?
Her: Everything. I don't get why everyone loves him so much.

So... I went on a tirade over how such an ugly bitch needs to shut the fuck up, because this "gross" person is actually very kind and quite the humanitarian... not to mention hot as fuck... FAR hotter than the thing she wound up settling for.
I then turned the conversation super hostile once I asked if she was grossed out over his sexual preference. Turned out she was. Then the rest of the group tore her a new one.

All in a day's work.

Dumb bitch.
Get the fuck out of here with your hate.
Typical... motherfuckers hating on people before getting to know anything about them.

All they get is the Bon-Bon shaking dude in leather pants that the US wanted to present (truth be told, I DETEST that album). The guy's actually pretty successful with his Spanish releases. His songs are deep (true, most are written by his bff, but still. Those two make a wonderful team) with awesome music arrangements.
My music library is loaded with Ricky Martin (slow) songs.

You try hating someone who sings this beautiful song (I put the instrumental version on because 1- It shows my one true love: Barcelona. Although after watching it, the person focused WAY too much on the tourists. 2- The video with Ricky's voice was lame, since he didn't make a music video out of the song. BUT, the important thing here is the actual music. It's wonderful):

If that doesn't make you wanna fuck, then... you might be made of ice.

Be! Be! Aggressive!

New Year's resolutions... I hate them.
I hate the top resolution most: to lose weight.

This time of the year is a pain in the ass to be at the gym... having to deal with so many clueless assholes who are too... I don't know what they are... shy (?) to ask for help with equipment or a class. They just stand there and hinder the rest who actually have a routine down. They don't even use COMMON SENSE (the class is called KICKBOXING. I'm 5'8". Unless you like the feel of a shoe up your ass, I suggest you get at least three feet away from me, retard).
I'm FINE with helping a newbie out... I actually like it, and I'm very nice and encouraging to them, because I know how intimidating the gym can be the first couple of visits.
I think I would be less resentful if at least half of those people who made the resolution to be gym-goers would actually stick with it. It would make the frustration worth it.
But no... most newbies are stubborn, hard-headed fuck ups... who also seem to be drawn to me like a magnet. I have to deal with the newbies fucking EVERYTHING up and really, really wearing my patience thin.

***

It's the gym... I don't know about most people, but I'm not the most pleasant person when weight-lifting or kickboxing is involved. I can't sit there and think about cute boys or what nail polish color I could be rocking because it's distracting, more than anything (I've done this in the past, and each time I find myself thinking "happy" thoughts, I get injured. I sprained the fuck out of my right wrist last March-- a sprain which has just barely healed, but gets aggravated if I do more than ten tricep pushups. My body doesn't dig/can't handle that angle-- unintentional rhyme there). I have to be aggressive. So... if you continuously shove into me, swat at me, or stand so close that you hinder my clean-and-press, I'm going to get PISSED.

This leads me to last night.
I was trying SO damn hard to keep my cool in kickboxing class. There were about... 80 people in class, I couldn't count, but I'm sure it was a fire hazard. A good 20 were new people. All the newbies were cool... except, of course, these two fucking idiots who decided to stand to my right. One was more idiotic than the other... and she was the one closest to me.
She was about five feet tall, clumsy as fuck, and maybe in her early 30s. By the way she was punching (wildly), it was obvious this midget has NEVER gotten into a physical fight... not even with her own shadow. Yet, she stood there and acted like a hardass (probably what irritated me most)... until she'd get tired and just stand there like a fucking pillar, totally killing my momentum.
She slowly but surely made her way to within a foot of me, directly in front of me. I'd have to kick to her sides, that's how bad it was. I'd purposely kick past her head, as hard as possible (if her fucking head got in the way of my foot... oopsies! Maybe you should stand a little further from the bull next time, dumbshit) and she still wouldn't move. AND THERE WAS ROOM IN FRONT OF HER (this just infuriated me).
Once the kicking portion of class was over (without any incident... although I secretly wanted to kick the shit out of one of her hands, just to send out a nice warning, you know?), it came time for the plyometric portion of class.
During the jump squats, she was almost on me. I'd blow at her ear and her hair would sway. I would stand there, and purposely blow into her ear. BITCH! I can blow INTO your ear canal... IS THAT NOT CLOSE ENOUGH?! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!
AND SHE STILL WOULDN'T MOVE (away from me. She'd actually scoot closer to me)!
If I could have, I would have moved, but see, THERE WAS NO ROOM. I was nearly against the wall. So, during one of the jumps, as I was swinging my hands upward (required motion here, not like I was doing it on purpose), I held my hand out and pressed it against her back... in my best attempt to send her a silent "Look, bitch, please, give me some room here. Get the fuck out of the way or I'll actually push my hand next time it makes contact with your stupid little back."
Cunt just looked back at me and DOGGED me.
OH HELL NAH, YOU FUCKING LITTLE BITCH!
She sealed her fate with that action-- you DON'T dog a chick who can shoot daggers with her eyes.

We took a ten second break, and then came the worst part (of class, and this violent back-and-forth):
the lateral ski lunges.
It's the speed-skater move:


This was where I got the universal OK to beat the shit out of this stupid little mole who was fucking with my patience for forty-minutes too long.
Her dogging me gave me incentive to pound these out.
I was beasting-- left, right, left right. I was jumping so far to my left then right, that I could look her in her eyes. Each time, I made sure to look her right in the face... so she could feel my stare on her at least peripherally. You. Are. Bugging. Me.
That's when she let me have it. She swung back (she was directly in front of me, back turned, obviously), trying to look enthralled by the exercise, and BAM! her right fist hit the right side of my face... then when she swung her left hand back, she scratched the shit out of my right hand.
I came to an abrupt stop and just stared at her.
AND SHE ACTED CRAZY! As if nothing had happened (this sent me over the edge. Just... how unapologetic she was about the whole thing. As if I was the one at fault).
I looked up at the trainer and he just told me to shake it off.
Shake it off?! NO ONE touches my face!
BUT! Since I'm nice (to a stupid degree), I got back into it. This time, I was STOMPING-- each time, fighting the urge to just swipe her feet and make her take a nasty fall to get trampled by the rest of class.
She scooted back closer to me, and I shoved my left forearm against her back, then my right forearm.
She looked back at me again, and dogged me again.
THEN she CAUGHT my right hand (mind you, her back was turned to me) and PINCHED it in her clasp like a motherfucking king crab or some shit (she was the fucking size of one. Short and round. Fucking sea-creature-looking cunt) and punched the left side of my face (with her back turned to me)!
ENOUGH! I can play this too!
I clenched my right fist and swung with all of my might just as she leaned to the right side.
BAM!
KIDNEY PUNCH, PERRAAAAA!

Trainer saw it... and walked over to us.
The dumb cunt was crouched over, I was standing still, and my three friends (regulars) stood there and had my back.
Badassfriend1: She moved INTO her fist.
Badassfriend2: The girl didn't see her.
Badassfriend3: All part of the class, girl.
Trainer: THAT'S IT GUYS! PUSH THE PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU! (turns off mic and speaks directly to the animal in front of me) Easy, girl.
HA-HAAAAA!
Stupid sea-creature cunt started walking away--limping-- with her friend. I made sure to dog her... then smirk, as she walked away.
She stared at me as if I had just stolen her husband.
I mouthed off "Fuck. You." in my best chola face... you know, that one where I hella bite down on my bottom lip to pronounce the "F."

I don't understand why it's always the short girls who feel the need to get aggressive with me. I always get the chicks with the mean-ass case of the Napoleon Complex to invade my space, then look for a fight. When they feel they want to flex their muscle, they always pick me as the girl on which they're going to test their strength. The quiet, shy girl minding her own business in the back corner of the room.
I may look like a pushover, and I may act like one... but just like the nicest rottwailer forced to deal with an obnoxious chihuahua, if the goddamned chihuahua bites my ears and tail for too long, I'm going to snap the bitch in half.

I SWEAR I'm a nice girl. Honest. (Just don't touch my fucking face)
Maybe that's what kept me out of jail... and still a member of the gym (I won't lie, once class was over, I jetted out of the place... even jogging to my car).

I can't wait for March to roll around ('cause February still has a couple of half-assed resolutioners hanging around and aggravating the situation).

Good call

Something weird was in the air this summer...
something that made guys fight... a lot.
I blame the cartel wars.
Dudes try to put up a brave front... when in real life, they're pissing their pants just like the rest of us.

This year, I witnessed three fights... and all three where out of the blue.

Two fights occurred at the park. Both times, they were over "bad calls" which I made... hahahaha! I'm horrible. But hey, they WEREN'T bad calls!
Anyway, the fights would leave me sad, oddly enough... because you can tell these kids don't want to fight... it just happens. There's this really sad... shame on their face, especially from the innocent party. They want to cry, but they'd be ridiculed for it... ugh, it makes me sad thinking about it.

Then there was the third fight.
That shit was GOOD.
I say that now, now that I know the whole story. At the time of the problem, I almost had a heart attack, I almost pissed my pants, and I couldn't control my legs.

Let me start with the basics:
I live two houses away from the town Cantinas.
I've never been scared of being home alone, but this day I had been alone since 6 PM and it was already 10:30 PM.

I hear faint voices arguing... the voices get closer.
Should I turn off the lights and go to bed... or sit here and listen? Ah, fuck it, I'll let them fight.

No me hables asi, cabron!!

Vete a la chingada!
Hmm... they don't sound familiar...
I hear the two guys run down the street, and stop in front of my house.
It's pitch black outside, I can't see shit.
I hear punches... then someone getting kicked... all kicks now... a beer bottle breaks!
They scream into my door, at the top of his lungs:
ME ESTAN MATANDO!!!!
FUCK!!!! WHAT DO I DO?! Someone's getting killed!

CALLATE, HIJO DE TU CHINGADA MADRE!

Oh my God, oh my God!! WHY AM I ALONE RIGHT NOW?! What do I do?!
So I did what any normal person would do: in one swift motion, I turned off the living room light, then the television, and I ran into the bedroom with the thickest walls. I stood away from the door, in case a stray bullet came in... duh!
(Last year a similar fight had ended in an AK47 being shot... and I can't even begin to describe the horror I felt then... I was hoping the story didn't repeat itself this time around)
I sat there, my legs shaking to the point where I had to kneel on the floor, listening to the sound of a guy getting the shit beaten out of him.

After about two minutes the sound stopped, and I heard one person limp away... then I heard someone SWEEPING in front of my house.
Jesus Christ, they're getting rid of the evidence... please don't knock on my door... please don't knock on my door...
I sat in dark silence for ten more minutes, until Mom showed up, and I screamed at her.
WTF MOM? WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!
I was... what the hell is wrong with you? What happened?
Was there blood outside?
I don't know... I couldn't see...

So I went off and told her what I heard.

The next morning I saw one of the guys involved.
How did I know it was him? His foot was bandaged up and his face was swollen... along with his hands and arms.
I asked around to see who else was fucked up, and it turned out it was my sister's ex who had gotten into a fight with one of my neighbors. My neighbor had called him a fag and all these other derogatory terms, and when Sister's Ex finally had enough, he started beating his ass.
Well, then Neighbor threw a bottle at him and wound up cutting him in the foot... which sparked Sister's Ex's ire and that was the ass beating I heard.
Sounds stupid, now that I know the complete story... but at the time of the beating, I was scared shitless (I dare anyone NOT to be, if placed in my situation: not knowing who's fighting... and considering Zetas are running around doing shit like "La Corbata" to their victims. What's "La Corbata?" "The tie," where they slit your throat and pull your tongue through the slit as you sit there freaking the fuck until you bleed out. Fun shit, right?).

And that, ladies and gentlemen, made me realize: I'm glad I'm not a dude... I'd be so gay.
(That, and my staring problem when it comes to dudes with nice smiles would out me. Speaking of liking dudes, trip to Mexico was a bust as far as "not bugging Darcy" goes. Well, I didn't bug while in Mexico... but... ha... I'm weak, ok? He asked a simple question, and like always, I ran at the mouth... probably a little weird to him... I'm sure he has to think "What the hell is wrong with her?" at some point, but I can't help it)

Boys will be Girls

(MGHsBro asks for directions while at the Paris)
Concierge: How old are you?
MGHsBro: 18.
Concierge: How about her? (me)
MGHsBro: 25.
Concierge: You guys are a couple, right?
MGHsBro: She's my mom.
Concierge: Oh... wow, really?
Me: Yeah, it was a hard delivery.
MGHsBro: I'm not really 18... I'm 22.
Me: I'm still 25.
Concierge: Wait... 25... 22...
Me: He's my brother.

I've had a good time with the boys... but yesterday, shit made a turn for the wack.
I don't know the entire story, I didn't ask. All I know is the nine boys had a nasty argument last night, which revolved around money.
I was in the other room as the boys had their awkward powwow, and I was desperately trying to keep myself occupied with my phone or the TV, so I wouldn't hear their shit (semi-successfully. I heard a couple of "Mira, guey... a mi me vale verga!" and "ENTIENDE, PENDEJO!" Which I was like... "Dude, someone turn up the fucking volume on this Jersey Shore!").
It killed the fun vibe... and while we all went gambling after the argument, the faction was made.

So sad.
I thought only chicks had this type of bickering drama.

Anyway, they decided to keep it sort of civil. From last night's argument, it appears it was three of the boys making trouble, so instead of beating each other's asses, they just agreed to go their own way.
While four of the "Bochitos" (the nickname the group of 6 boys who met in elementary go by. MGHsBro is part of the 6. They for some reason call themselves the Spanish slang term for a VW Bug. While MGHsBro tried explaining it to me, we all know I have a very short attention span) came over to my place for some Camarones Al Mojo De Ajo, the trouble makers took one of the Bochitos hostage and forced him to drive them around the Venetian area.
So, we all decided that Sister, the 4 Bochitos, and I would go about and enjoy some last minute touristy shit.
We were then supposed to drop off the blue-eyed Guatemalan Bochito at the bus station, but two things happened:
1) MGHsBro's car was crashed by a dickhead as we were parked on the curb. The swapping of info was such a mess. Example?
MGHsBro: Ok, so what's your name?
DickHeadCarCrasher: Fatz.
MGHsBro: No, I mean, your REAL name.
DHCC: Oh, Shawn.
WHO the FUCK answers like that? Only in Downtown.
2. The blue-eyed Guatemalan Bochito had three hours to kill. Instead of letting him stay at the bus station with all the shady looking people, we decided to hijack him ... and bring him home.
MGHsBro and his gang had to get on the road to head back to Mexico, so BEGB was pretty much forced to spend time with us.
My mom fell in love with him. Ha.

Yesterday may have been awkward, but over the course of the weekend, I really got attached to those kids. So funny, so adorable, and so nice.
Yeah, guy friends are definitely awesome.

Fight! Fight! Fight! A chick and a... chick!

Sweet baby carrots...
Man... what a freaking weekend.

Why is it that girls love to incite such drama?
It sort of scares me how so many of them get a rise (I think that choice of words works best when referring to a dude, but whatever, I don't feel like jogging my brain for a better phrase) in seeing the offended party react. They get so excited... ape-style... when they see a girl react violently to shady news.

Of course... the latest person offering the spectacle was me... surprise, surprise.
Being that I've had ENOUGH of girls talking shit, I went off and spewed at the mouth last night (well, I had originally been told of the shit Friday night... then I got an early morning phone call Saturday, where I was told of all the shit-talking-- things are STILL being said about that damned October weekend when we celebrated my sister's 21st b'day-- this time, to an explicit extent), and I dealt with the backlash today.

I felt GREAT after letting it all out. It was the damn catharsis I was desperately seeking.

I wrote the heart-felt bulletin (yeah, of course, this business was handled via Myspace, since the bitches live in California, and driving all the way out there to slap them around for a couple of minutes isn't quite worth it. Plus, it serves as fair warning to anyone else thinking about talking shit... especially Las Vegas residents. Get me THAT pissed and you best believe I WILL hunt your ass down and we WILL have a nasty altercation) Saturday afternoon, then left for the rest of the day.
When I got back home, I had 10 replies to my bulletin. TEN.
Do you know how hard that is? I mean, I bet that happens on a daily basis to people who have 200+ friends... but I'm lucky if I get ONE reply.
Ten is definitely a scary number.
Out of those ten, ONE was a dude... a drunk one, actually.
The dude was being protective, of course, offering to beat anyone's ass for me because "You're a sister to me, man! A SISTER TO ME!"
The chicks?
"Whoa! What happened, man?! What's the bitch's name?!"
Then the text messages came... (Mooney, yours wasn't a surprise, you're like a sister to me, haha. So you being concerned for me was actually comforting)
and they all seemed... excited.

???

At least I now know who to invite to UFC fights...
and who'll be there to talk some sense into me if I ever get worked up at a bar (on the flip side, who I should TOTALLY avoid, unless I want to gain fame as AnoMALIE, bar-fighting extraordinaire).

Ripping out my heart

Ok...
Here's attempt number 5 at writing this post... who knows if it'll stay up... because each time I start a post... I get worked up... leading to me deleting the post because it's just too damn mean.
Here we go:

My world sort of fell apart on Thursday morning.
It had started to crumble after that nasty fight I had with the chicks (my "friends" I so believed, but now that I think about it, real friends wouldn't do a tenth of the bad shit they did) back on the 6th of this month... although by the 1st of the month things were already taking a turn for the worst.

You see... two of the 4 girls involved in the argument started making a move for ALL of my friends/acquaintances... and they weren't shy about letting everyone know about our drama.
They made sure to make me uncomfortable in all situations: the park as I played volleyball with people from out of town (they'd make sure and talk loud enough so that the out-of-towners would hear the shit talking), my usual hang-out spot we so dearly call "The Alamo" (I didn't go for a week... and it was killing me to know these two chicks were usurping my place!), my own house (they're my neighbors... so I HAD to bump into them at some point).

My last couple of days there were purgatory, since I'd always think back to that fucking day and get heated... and upset at thinking that my "friends" had been poisoned by a bitch who couldn't get her facts straight. I was upset knowing they had believed her over me... I was upset knowing things will never be the same between us again.

HOWEVER, as much as this fight hurt me, I DIDN'T go around telling people about it. People would approach me and ask... and while it was tempting to be vindictive and turn people against THEM, I never did. I only told one person about the fight, and that was my godson, only because he knew something was up... and he's probably the only other person I trust in this world... but I never told him to stop talking/start hating anyone (unlike what these girls were doing).

So, I left it at that... as heart-broken as it made me ("echame a mi la culpa de lo que paso..." I'm a vindictive bitch when I want to... but this problem hurt me too much soul-wise for me to actually get vicious. It was too much of a low blow, and while I would have my bursts of rage, I'd stay home and cool off, rather than go to these girls homes to personally kick each one of their dumb asses). I lived the rest of my "vacation" playing Guitar Hero, crying, counting the days until it was time to come home, and missing my godson like crazy (he was in the city, studying by now, remember? He was no longer in Hometown, wasting away like the rest of the kids his age).

On to what made me get worse and led to my Thursday melt-down:

I became unbelievably attached to my 19-year-old friend, who I'll now refer to as My Guitar Hero, MGH.
There's always been a "thing" between us... and it wasn't until this year that we sort of acted on it (I was in need of a friend/game partner... he was heart-broken/in need of female attention... it was summer time... shit happens, right?).
We became attached at the hip... and there was this crazy level of comfort between us, as well as the coolest vibe I've ever felt with a guy. I mean... it was... love, but not the "I want to marry you!! Let's have babies together!" love... it was just... "God, where the fuck have you been all my life? Can you believe we click like this? I'll fucking hurt anyone that tries to ruin this" type love.
He had been in Hometown for about two wonderful weeks in mid-July, left for a week and a half to another part of Mexico, then came back the day before we left for Vegas.
Before he left for that week and a half, we talked about not wanting to part and all that shit ("Don't leave me MGH!! It's gonna suck without you!"--and this was before I even had a hint of the shit that was to come for me later on that week-- "Who else is going to gold-star with me?!" etc). That's when he asked, very timidly btw, if he could come with me to Vegas... which garnered this response:

Oh my God! I fucking love you, MGH!!! ::bear-hug around his waist as he was dangling from a tree (so we like to play around on trees, we ARE Mexican, after all):: Of course you can!!

So I was excited when he left, because I knew he'd be coming to Vegas with me when it was time to leave.
I was even more ecstatic about his return after all the girl drama passed (drama he never heard about, at least not from me).

The trip came and went... it was uncomfortable as fuck because we were sort of crammed in the truck... but still, I made room for him to sleep on my lap, I'd give him hour-long back massages, once in Vegas, he slept in my room--the biggest aside from my folks' room, we showed him around cost-free...etc. he was basically treated like a king (because we wanted to treat him like that and had no problem doing so).
We took him back to San Francisco last Friday, the 15th, and we stayed with him until Monday (the only day I didn't see him was Saturday, because I was at that damn wedding with the stalker).
Everything was fine and dandy up until Sunday night... around the time we were getting ready to go to sleep. He started acting weird... looked sad... stopped talking... and didn't even get up to say goodbye in the morning.

All right... I don't get it, but whatever... I guess you don't like good-byes or something...

However, come Monday night, he called me to see if we had gotten home safe. We then proceeded to stay connected with each other up until Wednesday night... then all of a sudden, come Thursday morning... nothing.
I saw he had removed me from his contacts (except Myspace, because he doesn't use that often), wouldn't answer my e-mails, texts, anything.
Then I noticed that I wasn't the only one he removed. He removed my entire family and wouldn't talk to them.
I tried contacting MGH's brother (the one who was 19 last summer and would sing to me when we'd be alone) and asking what the deal was... but no answer. He wouldn't answer my sister's texts and e-mails either.
This lasted all Thursday... this attempt at seeing what the hell was going on.
Normally, I wouldn't panic THIS bad, however, I was freaking out because I remembered something terrifying:

In Mexico, when I was still cool with the batch of girls, we'd go together to the internet cafe. I'd always use the same computer because 1. It was my favorite, 2. It had all my favorites saved, and 3. It was pretty secluded from all the other ones.
One day, the 16-year-old of the group, beat me to my computer, so I was forced to use another one. This one was open to the world... meaning, I had no privacy walls... and people making line to pay would be able to see my screen.
This day, I had seen I had messages on blogger... so I went for it... and that's when it happened: the girls saw my blog.
The day had been pretty rough to begin with... since that same day they had looked at my Myspace page... and proceeded to make fun of one of my friends (to which I responded with really obscene words... offending them all... but I didn't care because you don't fuck with my real friends like that... I prefer for everyone to just... get along... and if any one of them makes fun of another, I'll be quick to step in and tell them to shut the fuck up... unless the arguing parties are siblings). Once they saw I had a blog, they proceeded to knock it... but I thought nothing else of it... just that they were butt-hurt over me offending them earlier, and now they wanted to make fun of me to feel better.
Well... from there, I noticed they became a little more interested in my Guitar Hero band name (I'm stupid enough to have "AnoMALIE" as the name... how retarded, I know), and asked me to explain the name to them.
I did as they asked... and thought nothing of it.

Well, I came to Vegas, and noticed that someone in Durango had been checking out my blog.
Once again, I didn't panic, I just thought "Fuck, AnoMALIE, why don't you ever erase the history off computers?? Now people in Mexico will be able to read your blog... and notice all your shit-talking..."

With the sudden cut-off from MGH, all kinds of things started running through my head.

Fuuuuckkk.... I've said some things about MGH on my blog... especially last year.... like... what his dad was known for... shit... fuck... his cousin saw me checking my blog... fuck! Oh no... shit... I offended him!! His family hates me now... and I can't blame them.... me and my damn big mouth! Fuckkkk! I ruined a good thing! My family! AHHHH! He's going to hate me... I lost him...

Sure, I thought maybe MGH had heard about the August 6th War of Words... and since his name had been smeared in the fight, I thought maybe he was mad... but I felt something bigger than that must have happened... and the thought of him finding out what I know about his dad was scaring me... terribly... because that shit you just don't talk about to anyone... especially when the man's own children don't know what's up. That shit has the potential to rip families apart.

When I saw Friday was turning into the same deal (no, I wasn't continuously texting and calling... I was playing the most anguishing waiting game, actually... praying my worst fear wasn't coming true), in the afternoon, I resorted to texting their cousin (who lives a couple of minutes away from them), one of the girls involved in the August 6th war of words (she's also first cousins with the main fire starter of it all, Enemy, the one that was going around bad-mouthing me to everyone), the same chick who learned about my blog and asked about my name.
She wouldn't answer my texts, so I started getting hostile on her.
She answered after my second serious text (none of this smiley face shit or text speak).
Upon calling her... she said she had no idea what was going on... she said she had never mentioned anything to MGH, but she never claimed her cousin, Enemy, as being innocent.
Since Enemy's Cousin (I guess that's what I'll call her, no, let's call her Pacemaker, like a song her name's involved in), Pacemaker, lives closer to MGH and his family, she did the calling and figuring out what was going on.
Eventually, Pacemaker got me in touch with MGH (the following night).
As all this was happening, I decided to close my blog... because it would only be incriminating ("Yes... I talk about you... and your dad... and your money... but I really do love you!!" How the fuck would that work?).

Upon talking to MGH, he let me in on why everything had happened (reasons being far more tear-inducing than I thought. Not scary at all... at least, not to me... to him, maybe). He calmed me down... we got back on good terms, and he's once again My Guitar Hero.

Pacemaker swore never to make mention of this blog ever again... as I promised never to write bad things about HER (hell no, I dind't agree to not talking bad about Enemy... I said I wouldn't mention her at all... ever again... in writing or in person). I hope she holds up to her agreement... 'cause I know I will.
:T

AAAAND, that, my friends... is why I had a massive meltdown this past week... why I ALMOST deleted this blog completely... and why I haven't really talked much on here anymore (and probably never will talk too much... man...).